Wolves of Warsong
by Joseph joe Kerr
Summary: Taking place 3 months before the Iron Horde had the Dark Portal finished, Garrosh finds it challenging to be the new Warlord of Warsong, being the substitute for his father, Grommash Hellscream. the son of Hellscream tries his best to win the love and respect of his father's clan, meeting new allies and foes alike.
1. Chapter 1 Acceptance

**Wolves of Warsong**

_AN: So this is a story with a setting just before Warlords of Draenor, please review and hope you like it. _

_I urge you to read the short story "Hellscream" in order to catch one or two references, since it makes it that more pleasant to read :D. You can find the short story on Wow's website and such. _

_Chapter 1: __Acceptance. _

_After assisting his father Grommash Hellscream and exposing Gul'Dans plans to enslave the orcs on Draenor for the warlock's now dead master- Mannoroth, Garrosh was rewarded to be Warlord of the Warsong clan. The proud Nagrand orcs welcomed their new additional leader and a great celebration was due. Yet, there were some among the higher ranks in the clan who felt great injustice had been placed upon them, since one of them were to pick up the mantle, by right. Pleading to Grommash Hellscream for Mak'gora to prove they had the will to be Warlord of the clan, the three lieutenants were denied just that, and was told to respect the new blood. _

3 months before portal was finished.

The sun shone on the green hills of Nagrand, Garrosh stood atop the mountain of the Warsong hold, watching the horizon. He had always liked the vast greatness of his homeland, the glorious sun and fresh life-giving air, to the little Talbuk relaxing in the shadows under a fertile tree, secure and safe, by the mother's cautious eyes. The stronghold of Grommashar was truly impressive, with its high towers and walls of the strongest lumber Nagrand had to offer. The new buildings were made of true iron, black as the orcs that constructed it and covered in red banners with Warsong's sigil on it, the howling avatar ever intimidating as the raiders who wore it into battle.

The newly appointed Warlord had enough on his hands though, and rarely had the spare time to sit atop the mountain-spire, and thus enjoying every moment of quietness, besides the distant roars and clashing steel from the training grounds, Garrosh could never think ill of hardworking soldiers, seeking to better themselves in the art of combat.

The young Hellscream sat down on the soft grass, his massive arms resting on his lap. He closed his eyes and started daydreaming of victory and glory for the Iron Horde. After minutes had passed, he could feel a mild wind come down on his tough brown skin, even less on the tattooed parts, covering his torso and lower jaw. Its soft touch felt like being embraced by a lost love, far away from these orcish lands.

"Zaela…" He forced his eyes open, they were the blazing yellow of a raging fire. The scowl that accompanied him when he was the former Warchief of the Horde reappeared and he squeezed his noseback with his indexfinger, followed by the thumb radiating frustration as bright as Gorehowl reflecting the suns glow. The great axe of Grom Hellscream laid a few inches away, awaiting its new master's iron grip. It had become more of symbol than actual weapon these days, showing the clan what trust Grom had placed on Garrosh. However, the soul of wielder and blade longed for a chance to dismember and slice through unworthy foes of the clan.

"I wish you could see this world, our world." He whispered silently. "I've fought so long, and I will return to you. With my father's new Hor-" Garrosh was interrupted by a lone guard. Exhausted from the run up the mountainpath, the guard saluted and urged the Warlord to come down from his sanctuary, the lieutenants had been gathered and was discussing the monthly rations of food and livestock, but demanded that the highest authority made his appearance. Garrosh made a respectful nod while picking up Gorehowl and started the long walk down the small mountain, leaving the guard behind to catch his breath

* * *

As the new Warlord walked pass the many buildings and market, he could see the great hall in the Far East. The market was alive and thriving, shouts of fresh fish and meat ringed in Garrosh's ears, _"Even the traders has lungs, worthy of a Warsong" _he thought to himself, a faint smile growing on his lips. Each step brought him closer to the wronged commanders and it felt like his boots became heavier, his bandages had begun itching too. The three orcs would probably not be very talkative more than necessary as always, it had been weeks of this childish behavior. Back on Azeroth the generals like Nazgrim would rejoice in seeing their leader, showing deep appreciation- sharing a mug of Orgrimmar's finest malt, even Eitrigg participated, despite his skeptic view on the Horde's actions under the young Hellscream. Garrosh wondered if disposing his new underlings was an option, since they would not come to terms with his rule. A chain of command couldn't work with three weak links, they had to be reinforced, or replaced.

He passed the younglings daycare, it seemed that today's assignment was to befriend a wolf. One little orc was sitting in the mud, tears on her check, her head hang low on her shoulders. Garrosh wanted to intercept her pathetic state, but before he had a chance, Sero'na Wolfmother made her move, heavy steps towards the little one, her fur cloak basking in the wind. The Wolfmother knelt and brushed the youngling's reddish long hair. Garrosh eavesdropped briefly, hearing the faint words of encouragement that Sero'na provided. Sero'na stood up, the child in hand and whistled for the little pup to come. She saw Garrosh eyeing the two, so she smiled kindly before her attention was directed elsewhere, namely her business with the pup and the orcling. He almost missed out returning the gesture before she had her back to him. He saw a little brown hand carefully petting the pup, and heard the child's laughter before he picked up the paste, and kept on going.

_This is what I fought for Thrall, an uncorrupted Horde, this is something you will never be a part of. _

When he came closer to the center of command, the two guards saluted him proudly.

"The riders of three are waiting for you, Warlord."

Garrosh marched right passed them, an angry grunt was the only confirmation they would have this day.

Garrosh rounded the corridor, the voices of the discussing lieutenants became more and more clear. It was definitely not talk regarding rations and belly filling.

"YOU'RE A FOOL NARK'RIM!" Malerok hammered his armored fist on the table, leaving a mark on old maps and receipts, the latter involving the Blackrock's payments for fortifying Grommashar.

"Speak lightly Malerok, one could think you had rabies." Chuckled Lorkz Bloodroam. His happy wrinkles visible around his brown eye-patch.

Nark'rim grinned casually at the remark, cutting a chunk of meat from something resembling a bird, bloodied but fresh. When the riders saw Garrosh enter, Nark'rim quickly made another cut into the bird, receiving a large piece before putting the remains in his satchel. Nark'rim Swifthunt always had a special customized satchel on him, for the messier of prey.

"Greetings Warsong." Garrosh stated, his voice calm and gentle, leaning Gorehowl against the wall behind him. As always, the three just nodded in agreement, only Nark'rim had an excuse, of course, stuffing his mouth with wild Kaliri on purpose, freeing him of voicing his greeting.

Several seconds of silence passed. "You have summoned me, Commanders." Garrosh was already gnawing through his patience, biting his inner cheek while waiting for the three to talk. Lorkz stroked his brownish beard, looking at the others with his one good green eye to see if they wanted to go first. When none of them spoke up, he redirected his gaze to the Warlord, smiling grimly before speaking.

"We have urgent matter to attend to. The ogres of Highmaul has been spotted on our territory and ambushed a trading wagon with supplies from the Bleeding Hollow." Lorkz paused, feeling degraded by Nark'rims chewing, glaring absently he took the chunk and flung it against the wall. Nark'rim did not pay it much trouble, only giving Lorkz a weak snarl.

Malerok stepped forward, offering Garrosh his words of advice and interrupting Garrosh's gaze that was on Nark'rim. "Warlord, we need to strike back and quickly. We have to teach them a lesson in the only language they understand, death." The last part said with spite and undoubtedly hatred for the larger race.

"And lose more riders and hunters?" Nark'rim inquired, his mischievous voice roaming the conversation for the first time in days.

"The Warlord will certainly not sacrifice his own kin, just to heed your primitive needs." He grinned, yellow jagged teeth exposed to the dim light in the meeting hall.

"You think yourself clever!?" Malerok bellowed, turning to Nark'rim. "I'll have your head on my battlestandard, when I'm do-" Garrosh intercepted the heinous message and made his own mark on the table, putting the tables thick legs to the test, a vibration making its way to the feet of all in the room. Garrosh swung his eyes from one orc to another, reassuring he had their undivided attention. He laid his meaty hands on the table, molding them into fists. Leaning on the table, he glared daggers at them, how did they ever manage to rise above all the other candidates, what did Grommash ever see in them?

Garrosh sighed deeply, filling his lungs with air, it was humid and yet dry to the taste.

Coolly, Garrosh looked at the map, it was made of Clefthoof hide and worn, Garrosh swept a hand gently across the lines, an ogre skull marking an outpost to the far north of Highmaul. He marked the outpost with his indexfinger, "Here, Malerok, take your pack to this outpost, and let your blades run red." boring into the hide, with his finger, Garrosh stared at Malerok, waiting.

"Perhaps you're not so soft, as I thought." Malerok made a toothy grin, but dismissing it instantly as Garrosh made a low growl, showing his own set of sharp teeth, as if his tusks wasn't enough. Malerok saluted and left in a hurry, he was proud and brave, but the young Hellscream towered him with a head, and was his better in any physical way. Only experience was Malerok's advantage. The commander had witnessed his new Warlord's abilities in combat, Malerok had been shocked beyond his belief when "The Stranger" had beaten three Warsong, while on his back. Truth be told Malerok had to admit, the Stranger was cunning and had so many similarities to his Warchief. Yet he still showed his rebellious nature where he could, his family had always been obnoxious and quick on words, a true Ogrebane always had the last comment on anything.

Nark'rim thought of leaving aswell, but stood his ground when the Warlord caught him looking at the exit. Tiny bubbles of sweat appeared on his forehead, knowing what the Stranger would ask him. If only he had not forsaken the damn caravan.

"You know what I'm thinking." Said Garrosh sternly, Lorkz joined him in down staring of the packleader.

"i-i-i didn't think… think, they would come from the south…" Struggling for words Nark'rim let his hand run through his obsidian colored hair. It was greasy and full of dirt.

"It was your duty, Nark'rim, five of our clan died bravely while you hid in the grass." Garrosh was deadly calm now. "If Malerok doesn't get the chance to mount your head on a spike, it will be because I took it for myself, Nark'rim… you failed our clan." Lorkz took this opportunity to distance himself from Nark'rim, moving closer to far end of the table, his mail armor making a treble sound as it drifted along the iron-plated board.

"You have no right…" Nark'rim said with a low animalistic demeanor, his face a shade of red, indicating his own temper reaching the breaking point. Garrosh stepped closer, walking with heavy steps to Nark'rims side of the long iron plated wooden board. Nark'rim was not the tallest of orcs, therefore only meeting Garroshs' chest in height. Nark'rims weapon of choice was his bow, not the great axe like his counterpart, but no Warsong would fear the bad odds, even he lived by those principles.

When Hellscream stood right in front of the smaller orc, Garrosh pushed Nark'rim's boundaries further, letting his breath fall upon Nark'rim's shoulders. "Speak up, Swifthunter, I'd not Hear…you." Nark'rim faced his Warlord, his black eyes looking straight into the yellow globes of rage.

"You have no right, Stranger.." Nark'rims voice broke, quickly repeating his sentence with more confidence. Hellscream tensed his massive body, his eyes penetrating the little orcs black pools of uncertainty.

"I have every right, more than you know…"

"It WAS a trick, it must have been. No outsider should be commanding the Warsong!" Nark'rim hissed, his clawed hand, reaching for his dagger. Swifthunter had prepared an ear-piercing howl, but the sound of his struggling breath was all that came out, for Garrosh had in a moment's notice, pinned him to the wall, having him dangle in one chokehold. Nark'rim vainly let the dagger fly rapid, but Garrosh caught it quickly, breaking the hunter's hand in the process. The sound of cracking bones overwhelmed the hall. Nark'rim would not whimper, Warsongs roar and let their howls be heard, not whine and snivel like a beaten dog.

Garrosh gave more pressure to his neck, silencing Nark'rim, but not enough to kill him. Garrosh knew he would never accept an outsider, only true clansmen could claim the mantle of Warlord, for a moment, which felt like hours, Garrosh thought hard.

_He has to know. _

"Nark'rim, you serve only Warsong. Accept me as one of your kin or DIE!" Garrosh let off the pressure, just enough for Nark'rim to have feet on the ground, and breath to speak.

"I'll never serve an outsider, with nothing to show his own glory and fame, you believe one battle in the clan's arena will make you my superior?" Garrosh increased pressure on his throat, the hunter's neck yearning to crack under the might of Hellscream.

"You..dont…even, have a name. You're nothing." Nark'rim wheezed, feeling his grip on reality slipping.

"MY NAME IS GARROSH, SON OF GROM, HEIR TO THE WARSONG, AND A HELLSCREAM!"

Garrosh flung the hunter over his shoulder, Nark'rim collided with the wall near the exit, weapons of all kind leaving the walls secure hold, creating a ballad of noise at the steel hitting the stone floor.

Lorkz stood silent, clearly in deep thought, shielding himself from the situation ahead of him. "Son of Grom." He bluntly stated his voice raspy and thin.

Garrosh was in battlestance, his torso heaving with each breath, he saw Nark'rim getting on his feet, moaning and trying to find the entrance. Judging the hunter's movements, he had blurred vision, the Packleader's legs trembling with uncertainty.

"You're no Hellscream." He laughed, cackling madly as he turned his back to the hulking orc. The hurt commander, salvaging the remains of his pride.

"You're dead, my riders will run you down…" again, the mad cackling, injured and broken. The laugh continued, piercing Garrosh's thoughts, but before he could put an end to the laughing hunter, a silky line of blood landed on Garrosh's chest, the warm liquid forced Garrosh to relive past killings of war for just a second, he shook his head, returning to the present once again. The sight before him shocked him to his core, even for a battle-hardened orc like himself.

A dark blade had run its course through the small orc. Nark'rim dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, his eyes full of horror. Desperately the dying hunter reached out for Garrosh for help, but in vain. His attacker had an iron sole on the bleeding orc's chest, slowly applying pressure to the deep wound. Nark'rim died shortly after, choking on his own blood.

"Greetings whelp, Son of 'Grom'." The husky voice sinister but imposing, the familiar stench filled Garrosh's nostrils. The narrowed yellow eyes of the young Warlord interlocked stares with the new arrival, the newcomer had a pair of sickly orange ones, feral and cruel.

"Kargath…"


	2. Chapter 2 Shattered News

_**Chapter 2: Shattered news.**_

"Happy to see me, 'Garrosh' was it? " Kargath's hoarsevoice had become a little less intimidating, eyeing Garrosh intensively while smudging Nark'rims blood off his blade with his remaining functioning hand. He moved the cloth passionately around and along the edges of his blade fist, a dreadful sarcastic smirk on his face as he did so.

Garrosh quickly looked to arm himself, but Gorehowl was far away, being too close to Kargath. The Chieftain of the Shattered Hand saw this, and amusingly told the young orc not to be so fearful, he had his fill of blood, for now. Kargath took the axe and let it glide slowly across the stonefloor to Garrosh, his gesture of goodwill was met with strong skepticism. The brown orc did not trust the chieftain by any length, having heard a great many tales of his cruel acts on his own clan. The grey orc's sadistic personality was alarming, even for orcs. Not to mention Kargath's masochistic nature, letting the protruding obsidian spikes on Bladefist's upper arms prove the point of him liking to bring great pain on himself and put it on display for all to see, friend and foe, it didn't matter.

"What are YOU doing here?" barked Garrosh, swiftly picking up his father's weapon. Already considering a possible fight between him and the leader of the Shattered Hand. Kargath was a dangerous orc to be around, and it didn't help the cause that he came unannounced, such rogue actions should be considered hostile and it was a violation of trespassing the Warsong's territory. None of the other clans could be trusted just yet for that matter, only the Blackrock clan could be accounted for. They had paid their due, by fortifying and constructing Hellscream's war machine since the beginning of the Iron Horde.

"I heard of the great feast, which should begin tomorrow, at nightfall. I thought coming to join the new 'Warlord' in celebrating would show good faith between our clans." Garrosh was lost for words, he was dumbfounded, that the chieftain would ride all the way from Spires of Arak, just to join a feast. Kargath Bladefist was not a social orc, keeping to himself unless he was tasked to do the Iron Horde's dirty work, roughly speaking. The Shattered Hand was doing the cleanup on behalf of the Iron Horde, in all corners of Draenor, but was good at it as well.

Having had the time to recover from the discovery of a new Hellscream, the oldest orc among the three present was Lorkz, whom intervened and welcomed Kargath, walking over the bloodied corpse of Nark'rim to salute the infamous chieftain, his nervous eye betraying any real warm greeting. Kargath didn't seem to notice, although he quickly scorned the welcoming words and shoved Lorkz to the side, heading for Garrosh.

"You impaled my best hunter, chieftain." The young Hellscream stated matter-of-factly, looking displeased at the strain of blood on his muscular chest.

"The best of anything would not have carelessly sunk into my welcoming arms." The one-handed warrior thrust his blade forward, pointing at Garrosh. The ridged blade aiming at the Warlord's heart.

Kargath's chilling and infuriated voice embedded itself in Garrosh's deepest fears. "Now, pretender, we have much to discuss."

Garrosh cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed. "Have a seat, Chieftain Kargath."

* * *

They had been talking for over an hour. The two elite warriors was sitting on either side of the great table. A flabbergasted Lorkz listening in unremittingly just outside the door, having his own theories crushed by Garrosh's explanation regarding how he came to these lands. He was not even from this world, according to Garrosh himself. It was hard to make sense out of his Warlord's words. Years of roaring and ear rendering howls, had sat its mark on the orc. He was old after all, he had enough years on him to be Kilrogg's father.

Kargath's blackened eyebrows had just started to relocate to their normal state, it was hard to believe Garrosh at first. The chieftain thought multiple times about seizing the moment and end, the so-called son of Hellscream. But despite his ideas of cut-throating the possible fraud, there was something about this 'Hellscream' that just made sense, Garrosh's arguments were useless and boring to Kargath, but the way he told his story was just like listening to Grom. Kargath had known the Warsong chieftain for a long time, and the similarities were there and even more so, as the conversation went on. There was a time, when Kargath had fought Grommash as young orcs. About what Kargath didn't remember, but the Hellscream he knew was honorable and straightforward in his speaking patterns, never to leave any thought hidden. Back then Grommash was still stronger and more agile than Kargath, having proper training from his father Golmash and thus defeating Kargath easily. It was before Kargath were captured, by the mongrels of Highmaul. The memories of the arena were ecstasy, but the dungeons still made him sullen in mood, provoking his temper drastically.

Kargath's glare hardened.

_Could it be this cub really was the son of Grom. _He speculated while fixated at the Warsong banner behind Garrosh, ignoring whatever the warlord was saying.

_It couldn't just be a bastard child. Grommash was no hoarder of women, and definitely not after what happened to Golka. _

Kargath formed a scowl, which made Garrosh stop uttering something about the portal to his world. Kargath's own trail of thought halted, looking at Garrosh once again, his scowl turning into what you could accept as a smile.

"Don't mind me boy, it was a long journey and I'm hungry for some feisty company."

Garrosh was surprised that the chieftain was not so serious about the matter anymore, it would seem he would rather enjoy the Warsong's women than unraveling more of Garrosh's past.

"Then tell me, Baldefist. What's going to happen now?" Garrosh's arms began to tense yet again, telling Garrosh to be prepared. He felt very uncomfortable in the deep chair, his eyes began to widen and he began flexing his fingers on the armrest, anxious of what was going to happen.

Kargath displayed slanted eyebrows and his lips steadily formed a deep frown, softly letting his blade fall on the table repeatedly. The metallic sound growing irritating by each time the stump fell.

The chieftain let the hand-blade fall one last time, doing it with force this time. "It would seem I can't be present at your feast. How disappointing." Kargath slowly rose to his feet, Garrosh doing the same. Garrosh could feel the older orc's lust for blood increasing, Kargath's pupils had become constricted in a matter of seconds. Just another thing that made this grey savage orc unstable, he had stormy mood-swings. The smallest aggro could set him off like a Blackfuse bombling, his ire unrelenting leaving his surroundings in pieces.

"I will have to deliver the news personally to our Warchief, and let him be the judge of your story." Kargath said it through clenched teeth, his head dangling somewhat low, like a preying tiger in the shadows.

"I've nothing to fear, now that I have nothing to hide. Perhaps I'm not his son, but I'm nevertheless a Hellscream, no matter which world I come from." Garrosh's voice was deep and smooth to Kargath, no fear present on his features. It was like he knew what the Warchief would say about this, was it hope that Kargath could smell? He himself didn't believe in 'hope'. Where was it when he needed it in the Highmaul dungeons!? Where he would have been left to rot and die like all the others. He himself took the initiative to ruin his hand and claim his freedom. He would have gutted the arrogant brown orc with that self-assured smirk, watching the life leave Garrosh's eyes and ending the 'hope' he had in his voice. However, the price would be high if Garrosh was right, that the Warchief would allow him to live on, with the same name as he.

_So be it Garrosh Hellscream, I will not be your executioner this day. _The thought echoing through Kargath's mind.

"I will take my leave then." Kargath turned on his heel and strode for the door, cursing under his breath thinking about the long path ahead to Gorground. Before he made it to the exit, Garrosh laid his hand on Kargath's shoulder, squeezing lightly. Garrosh's voice friendly and firm. "You will go nowhere before you have had the time to rest. And tried Ignorka's flamed hoofmeat with our own homemade brew, you will be sleeping at Durgrim's inn, I'll make sure a warm bed is prepared for you." A big warm smile on Garrosh's rather handsome face.

The chieftain of the Shattered Hand looked over his shoulder, returning the gesture with a slow but firm nod.

"And make sure one of the battlemaidens will be in that bed, Garrosh." Kargath said the name with a kind tone, but made sure it didn't sound too friendly, no need to uphold friendliness where none should be. They shared a laugh as they walked outside the great hall, seeing Lorkz share a chunk of Kaliri-meat with Kargath's escort, telling war stories from a time long ago.


	3. Chapter 3 The Wolf and the Rock

A/N. Ello again, new chapter, awesome! Again if you really wan't to understand the references you'll have to read the Blackhand comic strip, again its on Wow's website, just so you know. Alright lets get to it, read on!

**Chapter 3. The Wolf and the Rock.**

_The day after was the day of celebrating the new Warlord. With it followed long tables of food and wine, bonfires big as Gruul and beautiful as Nagrand's moons. When the Warsong clan had something to celebrate, drunk fighting and wild sex would eventually ensue, something Kargath would welcome anytime and was looking forward to it. As the dancers finished the traditional waltz of glory, the music died down and the great gathering would listen excitingly while the guest of honor made his speech. Garrosh was sitting in the middle of a great circle of tables, the chain of command all around him, apart from Kargath Bladefist, who sat just beside the Warlord, eager to listen as well, at what the Hellscream would say. In the announcement of calling himself a Hellscream, the clan stood in silence, confused. Garrosh took a stand, telling them what he had told Kargath, the people look to Kargath for confirmation and so the Chieftain nodded, saying nothing. Roars emerged from the depths of all Warsong throats, men, women and even children gave their best, accepting Garrosh Hellscream anew, honored cheers had never been heard, so loud and strong, the Highmaul could hear the yells of a thousand orcs. Garrosh had won the heart of the people, yet only one orc's opinion would be deciding his fate. _

_Morning came and the night took its leave, and so did Kargath in the early hours of the day, giving the best of luck to Garrosh. Kargath's journey to Gorground was now in motion. _

_Meanwhile at Blackrock Foundry, in the dusty wasteland of Gorground._

"I advice you to reconsider."

"No more! I've given so much for this idea of yours. Do not strike me as the fool I once were rumored to be, I am not a simple blacksmith for you to delude and play with!"

The furnace, burning brightly and provoking the sweat to every forehead and back amongst the working orcs. Foreman Feldspar barked at the top of his lungs. "faster faster, more heat you motherless Ogres, I'll rip the spine offa' ya backs if we don't get this order through." Feldspar swung his firelash at the bellows-operator, the ogron's back already aching after days of punishment, the firelash was almost a part of the Foreman now, never leaving his iron covered right hand.

The Foreman had really begun to feel the pressure from the production of weaponry, such magnitude of ore melting was insane if one would ask him. The furnace's glow was active night and day, and in the hours of light, during the long time of work, one could see the 'Heart of the Mountain' struggled to keep up. It was drowning in Blackrock minerals, cursing captors for its enslavement day in and day out. Some of the Blackrock orcs wondered if it was a good idea to tempt the elements by forcing such a workload on 'Heart', yet the leadership of the Foundry pushed on, silencing any who questioned HIS authority. Besides, all knew it was out of their leader's hands. HE was answering to a higher power, namely the Warchief of the united clans. The Warchief of the Iron Horde had demanded this burden to increase the speed of the production. Foreman Feldspar mumbled about numbers and the furnace's capacity. Suddenly hearing his superior's commanding voice, he squeezed his eyes, to see past the thick black smoke of industry. There they were- Warlord Blackhand and Grommash Hellscream on the iron balcony, it was the highest point in the foundry and it was Blackhand's favorite spot for overlooking the general production of weapons and creation of the Iron Horde's war machine. Here Blackhand would look to his workers for hours, with a thick proud smile on his scarred face. Of course, with Blackhand, seeking perfection never slept and neither did his gaze, the unblinking fiery eyes searching for any frailty or possible weakness in the moving metal as conveyors carried the finished product to the crates and lastly to the docks. From time to time, Warlord Blackhand would man the hammer and molten steel. Side by side with his smiths, would they work for hours without delay or break. To him a leader should show how it was done, and not only tell how it was supposed to be, he was truly an orc of action and sadly not diplomacy, which almost led his clan to extinction months before the clans joined forces.

"I have no intentions of doing so." Said Grom, although he didn't see the warlord eye-to-eye, instead he inattentively oversaw some ogron having a laugh at each other, through the thick smog.

He turned to face the gargantuan of an orc, towering Grommash with an ogre head. By doing so he could already feel the added heat, which Blackhand did well at unfolding. It was easier to handle when the back was turned to the taller orc, now Grommash had to distance himself a little, since they were only a few feet from one another.

"Your clan have an entire mountain of resources, your people are master builders. Don't deceive yourself, the Blackrocks' have always been talented bladecrafters, how is this any different."

Blackhand took a few steps forward, just enough to down-stare Grommash properly. "We never had to build such madness." The blackrock orc clenched his teeth. "You speak of blades, while we're building moving towers, engineered to be bolted atop a living gronn. The Stranger, whom now sits happily on your throne gave us a promise of a new world to conquer, what does it matter if my clan is destroyed, sacrificed to fuel your machine of war." The warlord crossed his heavy arms, the armor screeching as they met and entwined.

Was it becoming even warmer on the terrace?

"Do you think you're the only clan, sacrificing blood and sweat for our cause?" The proud Hellscream's voice began to rebound to its guttural commanding tone, leaving no trace of the former firm vocals. Blackhand could quickly identify with this, knowing the brown orc meant it with every word.

"What of the Thunderlords? The clan that enslaves our gronn. You think steel can stand-alone. Your weapons are useless without a wielder to benefit from them. Every clan are proving their worth." Grom paused briefly, looking for gorehowl in his hands, it wasn't there of course, a mild irritation found its way to Grommash's mind. "Yours more than any. And you know the Iron Horde will be victorious, no matter the size of the enemy's army. As long there is steel in orcish hands."

The living oven took a moment to examine his own hand, the black incrusted stonehand. His namesake. It was the price for survival. He could no longer feel it anymore, it was just there, heavy and black as his molten armor. After the attack on his clan he forged a new set of armor, who only he could wear. The living flame inhabiting the black attire suited him just fine, to be the only orc capable of touching skin with primal fire. The elements had truly blessed him with immunity to heat, making him the perfect blacksmith, and best of his clan.

Blackhand took another step closer to the Warchief, filling more of the gap between them. Blackhand's voice collected and almost a whisper, but with such magnitude it sounded like boulders hitting the surface of the earth. "Our enemy is unknown, we have entrusted a single orc with our future as rulers of a new world. Our resources are dwindling, while preparing for an all-out war between orcs and what is known to be many races of which we never have heard of. We know they'll support the 'blueskins' in Shadowmoon Valley, who are powerful beings with an even more powerful 'Prophet'. What makes you so sure the Iron Horde will succeed?"

Grommash took the final step forward, closing the gap and facing the Blackrock Chieftain, Grom held his chin high, looking into the fiery eyes of his newly formed ally. His voice deep and gruffly yet arrogant and enlightening "Because it is my will."

They stood there for a long time, interlocked in a collective stare. Only their heavy breathing could be heard, aside from the hammering and Feldspar's criticized shouting bellow. Orgrim Doomhammer came up from the lift and broke the silence with a message, his voice unfavorable and ugly to say the least. "Warchief. My Chieftain. Kargath Bladefist of the Shattered Hand just entered the foundry, seeking an audience with you." Orgrim looked to Grom, with dull eyes.

"Didn't he just attend to your throne-warmer's crowning feast?" Blackhand remised, giving up the earlier discussion.

Grommash rolled his eyes at the comment. He looked over the railing, watching Kargath making his way through the great furnace, inspiring fear into the hearts of the working orcs and ogrons, even the Foreman fell silent while he walked the path to the lift that would take him all the way up to the iron balcony.

Grom narrowed his eyes, trying to see the grey orc more clearly through the smoke.

_Is that a smile on your ugly mug, Kargath?_


	4. Chapter 4 Chain of Command

**Chapter 4: Chain of Command.**

**A/N:** Hello again, new chapter! not much to say, hopefully you'll leave satisfied and with a review. Cheers and enjoy!

The same morning where Warlord Kargath Bladefist left, Garrosh peered out of his bedroom window to see the grey orc take his leave, with the rest of the Shattered Hand's company. Reluctantly Garrosh yawned, stretching his muscled frame, closing one eye, leaving the other to witness Kargath disappear through Grommashar's massive gates. The new and almost official Warsong Warlord pondered what the day would bring, as he stood up and took notice of his new chambers. It was his father's chamber: it was huge in a circling structure, high to the ceiling and decorated with plenty of trophies and distinguished furs, some seemed rare and soft to the touch. As he glanced around his new lodge, he's eyes focused on a glimmering object in the distance across the room. With closer inspection, Garrosh saw a small skeleton fish on the wall, with a glowing deep blue gem between its fragile ribs. The son of Hellscream wondered why his father would have something so… out of place, in his warrior's sanctuary. The skeleton was surely showing signs of age, it was yellowish and even had brown spots on its forehead, yet it fangs remained strong, with a gleaming milky white nature. Picking up the item, and fiddling it in his hands, Garrosh felt it had a presence to it. _"It must be magical_" he thought, observing all its curves and edges. He took in a deep breath and the exhaled air from his nostrils whiffled the ancient dust from its small bones, revealing orcish runes, carved into the fish. Garrosh's brows heightened in surprise and he smirked, showing the entirety of his two ring-decorated tusks. The orcish language was old and hard to make sense of, but still readable with some effort on Garrosh's part.

Garrosh read it aloud.

"To Golmash, my Warchief, my brother in arms and my dearest friend." Garrosh stood awhile before he returned the odd object to its casing. He sat down on his bed, the furs soothing and relaxing. At that very moment, Garrosh was at peace, he remembered the night he spent on the shores of Dragonmaw, with its warlord, weeks before the siege of Ogrimmar. However, he didn't think of the siege, he thought of Zaela, leader of the Dragonmaw, bender of dragons and one of the strongest orcs he'd ever known. His heart ached for a moment; she was on Azeroth still, in hiding and waiting for the Iron Horde, her former Warchief and her love.

Garrosh looked down on the floor, clenching his fist on his kneecaps. "Worlds apart and you still haunt me." He shook his head and started gearing up, gathering his heavy boots and searching for his trusted axe- Gorehowl in the huge room. As he buckled his boots, he felt the wounds of the great escape from Azeroth coming down on him like a scorching wave of fire. He didn't flinch, it would quickly disperse as it came, he knew that much. The activities from great feast the night before didn't help either, since tradition demanded Garrosh to participate in 'honor-fights' in the pit, even 'friendly' fights for sport and fun had its downsides, the hulky monstrous orc the clan had named Tini'ork have had its turn on Garrosh as the last honored contester, and the son of Hellscream had been on the edge of defeat. It didn't matter if it was only for fun, to Garrosh- wrestling like wolves with an orc way taller than him needed to be won nevertheless. A Warlord could NOT lose the celebration games, and certainly not a Warlord claiming to be a Hellscream. The victory over the small giant was narrow and Garrosh remembered how tired he was. Tini'ork had the strength of three warsong at least. Last night had its fortunes as well, Garrosh's slim victory was met with great roars and plenty of applause and back-clapping. As he recalled, his drunken 'carcass' was supported by two children, each with a special painted mark on their forehead, and they escorted him from the arena, all the way to his new chambers where he would rest till the next day. Garrosh could still remember their youthful faces, wild curiosity and beaming jollity occupied their eyes and movements as they tried their best to support the weight of their Warlord.

"Why would they send children to aid me…" he wondered. He found it strange; it was an unfamiliar tradition, never a witness of it in the days of his youth, in the old Nagrand, before he met Thrall. Or Go'el that was the shaman Warchief's real name. He didn't see the aid of children something bad, perhaps it was to show the strength, in even the youngest, perhaps it was to show that they too, could wield power enough to help grown-up adults in need. Besides, it could only be good, that the youngest of the clan willingly participated to see their leader, up and close. Even though the two orclings didn't say a word, or so he recalled, they kept ogling, their innocent green and brown eyes exploring his battered frame as they halted home.

He got to his feet- Gorehowl in hand, ready to face today's challenges, as far as he knew, this day would be spent on the issue with him and the restless elements, who was growing more and more aggravated by the presence of an 'out-of-worlder'.

He exited his father's dim chambers, the light uncovered all the dark corners of the room, revealing yet even more secret items that Grommash presumably valued, he took a quick look over his shoulder, before closing the door behind him, letting the room dwell in peaceful darkness once again.

* * *

When Garrosh entered the hall of command, he was sincerely surprised and almost stunned by Lorkz's formal greeting, so unexpected. Garrosh didn't show it, but he was glad it had come to this. It would seem Lorkz really believed Garrosh a Hellscream, therefore earning the old orc's respect and recognition on a whim. The warlord quickly gathered his posture and moved with assured steps towards the great table.

"I'm pleased to report the attack on the northern outpost was a success, warlord." The general paused, waiting for a response, the waiting was not mistaken. Garrosh quickly inquired about the lost trinkets from the Bleeding Hollow clan. To that- Lorkz could positively tell that most of the desired items were recovered and scheduled to arrive soon.

"My trust in Malerok was well placed." A dry laugh came with the comment.

"Or so it would seem." Lorkz said dismayed, hiding a message between the lines. Garrosh's face darkened and his question filled with impatient snarling.

"What is it…?"

Lorkz cleared his throat and as he gave his answer, his voice was hollow, empty of any emotion.

"He died, while retrieving the cargo." They both stood in silence for a time, Garrosh in deep thought in contrast to Lorkz's very empty-looking face.

"He died a warrior's death, like true orcs should. His replacement will have a legacy to fulfil." The stern proclamation ending the topic, flatly. Or so it would suggest.

"Replacement, Warlord?" Lorkz showed keen skepticism, but faked interest anyway. Garrosh turned his back and started walking out of the room, gesturing the general to follow. They didn't say anything as they strut across the plain dusty earth, turning around a corner to the training-grounds, Garrosh seemed eager to get there, making it slightly difficult for the older Lorkz to tag along.

Lorkz could finally rest when they reached the terrace of the chieftains. It was atop the arena, shaped like the one in Highmaul. Its construction to have an inner ring, where the fighters would be, an outer ring that held the crowd of spectators and finally the chieftain's terrace, where a great throne made out of a white tree. This was the very oak whom Grommash was once chained to, after his capture by the departed Ogre Warlord years ago. It stood now as a testimony to Grommash Hellscream's greatness, his legend. Before Garrosh took his seat on the wooden throne, he admired the craftsmanship, it was a truly magnificent sight to behold, his armored hand caressed the armrest for a few moments, Garrosh's eyes wetted somewhat, but not a single tear formed. Lorkz took his stands beside the warlord.

"I've been prepared for this since I came here. " Garrosh didn't turn to look at Lorkz, but instead did the fiery golden eyes roam the grounds. Perhaps searching for someone specific?

"Warchief Hellscream does not tolerate weakness, as you know. Both Malerok and Nark'rim undermined our clan, the first being too weak and narrow-minded, the other a foolish coward." Lorkz grunted at this.

"The time for change is upon us. New blood will flow through the clan's ranks and wash over these lands, claiming every inch of it before the portal is finished." Did the sun just become warmer on Lorkz's skin. He could feel the pebbles of sweat coming forth on his forehead, this did Garrosh notice immediately which made Garrosh laugh half-heartedly.

"Do not fret general." He turned his head to the one-eyed orc "No harm will come your way. You have earned your place here through many years of service. I need experienced advisers and seasoned warriors. You own both tools, even though the latter may be rusty." A warm grin appeared on Garrosh's face. He landed his hand on Lorkz's shoulder "I know you'll be useful to Iron Horde."

A little smile found its way through the many scars and wrinkles on Lorkz's old frontier. "It will be my honor to serve you and the Iron Horde. Warlord Hellscream."

Garrosh leaned back on his borrowed throne, clasping his hands together in front of him, his stern look giving away that he was very, very concentrated regarding something else. Lorkz broke the awkwardness and finally asked why they were here, even though he did have a good guess. Garrosh had a guard come forth and said a series of names, who Lorkz didn't quite recognize, perhaps only a few had he heard of. The general stroked his brown beard, the small bones jiggled as he did so, having a trail of thought himself.

"Nark'rim was cursed by dread to lose his authority and status. Therefore he took it upon himself to see who would be worthy candidates and stationed them far away from Grommashar, purposely to die at the fronts." Garrosh let out a deep sigh before continuing. "It took me some time to gather them all, not many left to pick from." Lorkz could see in the distance a small group of orcs, perhaps three to four, the heatwaves blurred the figures so much it could have been one big individual, it could have been Tini'ork walking to the terrace for all the general knew.

"Look to the future Lorkz, its coming this way." said Garrosh proudly just out of earshot of the group approaching them.

"Hail Garrosh Hellscream!" the four Warsong candidates saluted Garrosh at the top of their lungs, the other trying to drown out the first with their fierce roaring. Garrosh motioned them to calm, and they took their seat on the ground, to Lorkz's surprise: Garrosh himself dismounted the great throne and made his way down to the group, resting on one knee amongst his chosen few. Lorkz felt uneasy. Hastily he sat down beside the kneeling warlord, sitting on his brown fur-coat for a softer seat.

"You were unfairly sent to your possible demise, by a coward fearing for his own safety, instead of the clans'." He carefully eyed each and every orc as he spoke, strange fatherly comfort claiming most of them, save for the ones who were older than Garrosh, yet still found it soothing somehow. "I brought you back, so you can fulfill your duty to your clan, to our Horde. For you to serve the clan's interest properly I will grant you the means, which you so rightfully deserve." The orcs nodded, baring teeth and clenched fists. Garrosh stood up, looking down on them with pride and they glared back with anticipation. "You will each be given the rank and task which can harness your talents the most. Then after, you will be my weapon from which I will forge this land, and built a world where all orcs thrive and live peacefully, knowing their warriors left them safe before venturing into my old one. For the glory of Grommash Hellscream, for the Iron Horde!"

_And for future generations… _

Kargora was given the title of Packelader. She was to take over the task whom Nark'rim the late, held, to be the clan's huntsmen, in charge of finding pray, guarding caravans from danger and organizing the general water supply. She was given his former squad, birthing the right to de-rank and excommunicate any who she felt weak or untrue to the Warsong. Upon hearing these words from her Warlord, her face brightened, almost like the children's from yesterday, her eyes shined like the sun itself, and her proud smile made the warlord smile too. Garrosh knew he made the right choice, he could see her loyalty, and sensed her strong will. A solid asset to the clan indeed, her hunts would feed the clan, plenty in time.

Nok'gar was given the title of warleader, for his exceptional skill in battle. At the front where he was stationed, he was originally sent there to die, in the Far East, battling ogres of Highmaul and their allies. There, after weeks of endless bloodshed, he earned the title 'Fleshrender' a nickname given to him by his peers, which piqued Garrosh's interest in this warsong soldier, and chose him then after to be a part of Garrosh's new organization.

Then came Vor'gash, happily seeking any rank available, he did not bearer any greater expectations like the others might have had. One could say he was a simpler orc, but fiercely loyal and conservative. He was a relatively normal orc, with a Warsong heart, but who in the clan didn't achieve that in their younger years. Garrosh chose Vor'gash because of his specialty with his enormous wolf, called 'Dreadfang', Vor'gash was a master of mounted combat. But those talents can only be stretched so far, thus earning him the leadership of Mok'gol, an outpost with its own resources, and lots of space for expansion. His primal task was to create a garrison for the Warsong to rely on, in harsh times. It would be in the clan's interest to have another base of operations, after the events in Ogrimmar, Garrosh experienced it was wise to have more than one fortress, and Mok'gol's location had endless resources: lands, fruits and wildlife. When hearing this, Vor'gash's back straightened slightly more than usual, promoting his gratitude regarding this important mission.

Garrosh dismissed them all with a salute, save for one. The forth orc didn't turn to leave like the rest. He stood like a statue, it couldn't be seen he was breathing at all, but his emerald green eyes cast aside all possible theories with him being made of actual stone.

"Kull'krosh." Garrosh began, his voice casual, but straight to the point. It felt like ages for Lorkz, who took good time, getting on his feet, cursing under his breath and dusted off the dirt from his coat. Lorkz looked to the sky, it was almost midday now. The swift breeze was delightful, he filled his lungs, inhaling deeply, as if he couldn't have enough of the sweet Nagrand air. A burdensome gauntlet placed itself on his shoulder and he returned to situation at hand.

"You may recognize one of my elder advisers, General Lorkz- protector of Grommashar and trusted friend of Grommash, our warchief." Garrosh squished Lorkz shoulder in a favorable way, yet with no smile, but rather had a form of shaded hostility.

"You two will be working together, as of now, Kull'krosh is the new General and will be supervising the construction of Ironfist Harbor. Make use of this one-eyed orc's wisdom." Garrosh turned to leave, seeing there was yet another figure approaching, with shamanistic features.

The group bid their goodbyes and turned to leave, but before Garrosh left the two and heading towards the shaman, he muttered: "It is the same wisdom that kept him alive, this far."


	5. Chapter 5 Born of the Arcane

_**Chapter 5: Born of the Arcane.**_

**AN: _Hey you lot, now this chapter roughly concerns matters which Garrosh doesn't even know of. As a supplement, i would say "Code of Rule" which is a short story with Imperator Mar'gok as the antagonist, makes a good connection to this. Since Grommash wanted Highmaul arcane secrets to join his arsenal. Without further ado, read on! :D_**

_It had been awaiting Garrosh for a long time, the last step to become a real warlord. Some deemed it unnecessary, namely clans like the Shattered Hand, although many would say they were a newer clan, thus not knowing the value of the Elements' favor. This was only one trait of many that divided the ruthless clan from the other clans inhabiting the world of Draenor. It was time for Garrosh to address the concerns regarding the disrupted elements. Even though it would be logical to visit the Throne of the Elements, where the elemental avatars were, Garrosh had been told by the elders of Warsong that he should seek out an even elder shaman, who was not among the clan, or had been for a long time. The young Hellscream was not fond of the idea of leaving his people for how long, no one knew- in his opinion, the urgency of this quest for elemental acceptance was exaggerated and a waste of time. Time he could have used planning the clan's next move on Highmaul, just to keep the ogre kingdom in check, since the last incident. At last, Garrosh gave in to the council of the Warsong shamans, and sought out this lonely shaman, living on the watery mountains of Nagrand. A final task to be completed, a blessing only the hermit of the Warsong clan could provide. _

Lokka was idly sitting on a broken, but massive wooden spike, the years of use had not been kind, the once great tree was somewhat rotten- with bloodstains from long-gone enemies and it was mostly just there to be an improvised seat for tired guards, watching the outer rim of Grommashar. In the beginning, Lokka and her childhood friend were always victims of overprotective warriors, being yelled at for trespassing, since they were not allowed to be outside the fortress, but now after months with so many attempts at sneaking onto the front gates and then outside to the broken spike, the guards didn't care in the end. Instead they just relieved themselves by watching the two orclings with careful gazes as they passed by, doing their shifts. The other reason that the guards didn't interfere the two younglings, when they would sit on the old oak, was that they had a peculiar aura to them, something odd that separated them from the other children, and it wasn't just the painted marks on their foreheads, who many orcs whispered about, among themselves when Garrosh wasn't present. The proud Garrosh Hellscream only knew them as the kind children, chosen to escort him to his chambers after the celebration-fights. Little did he know that every elder shaman, most of the military force and some of the general-public knew of the two children's dark past.

The little orc sat, patting a black furred wolf, a red scar showed on its fierce and aged character, stretching from the neck, passing the jaw and edned at the right eye. Yet the wolf had not been blinded by the old wound, some clansmen said it even had mystical powers, hence the glowing violet orb, contradicting the normal brown left eye. Lokka was dressed in a reddish leather garment, with two sheaths, intended for daggers, although she had none. Her hair had been shaped into a tight knob, with a stylish side-cut on both sides and with some wild strings of hair having a life of their own atop the knob; it was unnaturally green and her eyes emerald as the jewel whom her mother wore on a daily basis. However, no clothing nor any attire could take the attention from the youngling's most unusual trademark: the sapphire blue mark on her forehead.

"Morning Lokka!" it had come from just outside the gates and Lokka looked over her shoulder with glee, for there HE walked, arrogant and friendly at the same time. Lokka scooped to make place for her best friend in the whole world- the brown orc named Gulnaz Grimblade, son of Brutag Grimblade. However, she preferred to call him 'Gul' for short and he in return would call her 'Lo'.

"It's almost in the afternoon Gul, do you ever read the sun?" she asked, grinning heartily while pointing at the great glowing globe of greatness.

Gulnaz shrugged it off saying, "By reading you mean blinding myself like the elders, by staring into the fiery red ball of fire?" Gulnaz smirked and patted the great black wolf as well, to his surprise it growled in a deep low manner, calling upon Lokka to calm it with her gentle touch. "Coal here could be an elder too you know?" Lokka whispered, while nudging his eyes with hers, pointing to the great black wolf at their feet. "It would be rude to anger a disguised and powerful elder shaman." Giggled the girly orc.

"Well, if this 'powerful' shaman was in fact a REAL elder of the clan, then why isn't he at the Meeting with the so-called 'Warlord'?" he hissed the sentence more than he intended to, and made apologetic eyes right after. Lokka smiled faintly and signaled Coal to leave, with her small hand. The great-scarred wolf raised itself and licked Lokka, right on her face repeatedly, awaking childish laughter and pleas of surrender before it finally ceased action and ran back to the fortress.

Cleaning herself off with a small brown rag, she took notice of an annoyed Gulnaz, boring holes into the dirt with his amber-colored eyes.

Lokka lightly swung one bare foot at Gulnaz's own leather-armored boot, redirecting his beautiful honey glazed eyes upon her again, she then spoke playfully and kindly, the way only a child could.

"Having problems with our new Hellscreeem?"

"I'm just having problems with believing every word that he says, it seems like half the clan loves him blindly…"

Gulnaz rested his chin on one black leathery glove, the other clutching Lokka's small hand in unified physical intimacy.

"And the other half distrusts him deeply." She interjected, almost laughing. Her happy emerald eyes shone in the bright sun.

The red mark on Gulnaz's forehead radiating slightly, displaying magical activity. "Then I hope you're right about him Lo', the future will judge our actions." Her own blue mark began to show glowing sensitivity, this earned the attention of the current patrolling guard from the nearby tower at the gates, he stopped in his rutine and observed the two children's display of the arcane arts, with some enjoyment, nevertheless fearing that the Warlord would discover the 'clan-secret'.

Lokka applied more pressure to Gulnaz's hand, letting him know of her seriousness through her happy demeanor.

"Our deeds, forms the future, silly." She beamed with certainty and tenderness, happy thoughts invaded Gulnaz's mind, granting him vision of a new world, which fell beneath Warsong Banners. The marks began pulsing with sorcery.

They two looked at each other without saying a word, emerald beauty meddling with amber-coloured prowess. The red and blue marks on their forehead simultaneously changed complexion, to that of the other. The two orcish spawns smiled at each other, holding their hands together and sparks of arcane swirled around them, levitating small stones and sand. The guard atop the tower gawked with extreme curiosity only to receive a knock on the head from another guard, being told that his shift was over. The new female guard eyed the pair before hearing a brute figure shout in the distance inside the fortress, it was Garrosh Hellscream on a huge timber wolf, at the ready to travel and find the hermit. He shouted for the guards to open the gates.

"He's coming," whispered the two orclings at the same time, in an echoing voice. With a moment's notice, the small rocks and dusts of sand laid on the ground, and the swirling arcane magic disappeared into thin air, the marks resembled only paint once more, no remaining signs of glow and wonder.

"In time, he will know of us as well Lo', that we're not just the innocent children, that helped him to his father's chambers." Gulnaz said, with difficulty, great doubt emerging on his youthful face, he contracted his small tusks in dread. Lokka gazed away from Gulnaz and looked to the fruitful green plains of their homeland. A flock of Talbuks running and jumping with outmost grace and finesse past and over some rocks in the distance, the sun making it hard to see properly, just how many there were.

"Sometimes, I forget we are but children…." Lokka said, sad eyes looking down on the small-entwined hands of Gulnaz and her own.

Nagrand peace filled their conversation for a long moment.

"So he IS Grommash's son, is that what you're implying by saying 'father's chambers'?" She grinned a toothy smile. Before Gulnaz could explain his choice of words, a loud howl came from behind. Garrosh rode with furious haste past the two without showing any signs of noticing, his eyes forward and lips curling into a scowl. The huge wolf unraveling dirt and dust as it spurted onward with its rows of fangs naked.

After the dust had settled, Lokka's voice hardened "When he faces the truth about us, he will see the great value of our powers. But it is not because we're born of Highmaul's arcane magic, that he will spare us. Our Warlord will not only see us as weapons of war to be used and left on the field of battle, no. He will see that we are as rightfully Warsong, as him. No matter the origin."

With that, Lokka's smile reappeared and she waved gleefully at the mounted Garrosh, even though his back turned against them, she blissfully waved her arm like a flag. With hesitation, Gulnaz started to wave slightly, then even more as he looked upon Lokka's gleaming young emerald eyes.


End file.
